Efficient Ss Authoritarianism

Who: Henrik, Kraller, Sofia
What: Standard paper-checking before curfew

Coordinates : 16 4

A fine example of a French town, despite the signs of modern warfare with several buildings completely ruined by German bombs. One area of this block is almost completely wiped out, other areas are completely untouched and makes a stark contrast to the ruins.

It is currently dusk.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Air Raid Shelter
2. Alice's Sew Shop

With the sky darkening, and curfew looming in the near future, Henrik has stepped out of the Cafe as he tends to each day at about this hour. The big man pauses on the sidewalk as the door falls closed behind him, and draws a slow breath of the Arras air. His expression is that of the familiar relaxed frown.

Sofia arrives from the Arras Hospital.

Alice is herself, heading home with what looks like some of her day's work. She smiles, waving and scampering home. "Hello and farewell, monsieur! Dinner is burning!" She calls cheerily. Even as her food is burning, she seems optomistic. Silly Frenchie.

Kraller prowls the streets, as the SS is wont to do, on some errand from the Higher Order of command. Tonight, that includes knocking on doors and barking at the citizenry. He's just finished shaking down a cobbler who was on his way home for the night, demanding his papers and asking pressing questions about why he was wandering about with suspicious shoe repair tools. Once he's done scolding the man for some imaginary offense he prowls on, in search of others to shake down.

Henrik grunts wordlessly in first response to Alice's cheerful words. A briefly raised hand returns the aknowledgment, as the swede turns to make his way south across the street. In the process, he passes the recently scolded cobbler, blue eyes noting the nearby SS man.

Pirhanas can smell blood. Cats hide when storms come. And wolves circle a lost animal. Sofia seems to be one of those wolves, a rat sniffing at a breached cargo bay. Either that or she's /finally/ able to take a break from her myriads of tasks. She takes a deep breath, pulling off her white hat and letting her hair down. She starts out of the hospital and blinks, noticing both Henrik and Kraller. Wait, Kraller? She squints.

Kraller notices both Sofia and Henrik. The former earns a polite nod. Even a hint of a grin. German women are a rarity in this town. Henrik, however, is eyed with the suspicion that befits a shifty townsmen. He marches in Henrik's direction, back straight, all efficient SS authoritarianism. "And what are you doing out so late in the evening, Herr?"

Henrik stills his steps as words are directed to him. He turns to face the man, expression unwarmed and voices in his strongly accented speech, "Walking to my residence. Curfew is not yet in effect. Correct?" he asks that last in the same deep, even tone of the prior words. Sofia is not yet noted, perhaps for the best.

Well then. Sofia nods back. Even permitting a little smile in turn. It beats heckling! She is all too aware of how odd she is. The woman stays where she is for now, probably keeping herself out of note. She's also admittedly, rather curious and probably nosy. Beats doing more paperwork.

Kraller checks the time on his pocket watch. Then he consults the sky. But he finally has to concede Henrik's poitn with a nod. "Not yet. But it is too late to be wandering about without a destination. I would think the people here would not wish to be out in the evening anyhow, what with the saboteur still on the loose." He casts an eye around at the lighted windows. As if fully expecting to spot the saboteur. But he doesn't, so it's back to eyeing Henrik. "Papers, please. Where is your residence?" He makes sure to sound especially official and authoritative as he says it. Must impress the fraulines!

Henrik regards Kraller flatly throughout the words. He draws the folded papers from his pocket, as he rumbles in reply, "At waterfront, near river docks. Across road," a toss of his head in a southerly direction accompanies the words. Answering the former comments last, Henrik adds with a shrug of his thick shoulders, "Not worried walking at this hour."

She'd give him credit for effort and generally being cute. Sure. Sofia's still a silent sentinel. She at least, seems reasonably impressed. Or is she being a polite fraulein? Hard telling. Either way, she stays there, deciding not to get underfoot. She regards the situation evenly. Hrrrm. Her green eyes narrow a bit, to peer at the two.

Kraller regards Henrik right back, suspiciously. But, then, he's eyeing everything from passing alley cats to lampposts suspiciously. So it very well may mean nothing. He takes the papers and examines them, searching for any hint of forgery. Or just some clerical error he can shake the man down about. "Not worried?" He snorts. "Brave man. I would think the idea of any man who could murder two of your town's guardians, in cold blood, would be enough to put anyone…on edge."

"Not my town," Henrik voices in return to Kraller. "As for the rest? Not afraid of french. Germans only punish the ones who break rules. So not afraid of germans. Just want to get out of goddamn France and go home." A snort, "Bad chance of that."

Hrm. Sofia looks a bit skeptical, lifting an eyebrow. Although, despite her sharp, laserlight foc- kitty! She smiles at the passing cat. But back to business. She looks solemn after a moment, folding her hands in front of her.

Kraller makes a low "Hrm" sound at the papers. "Sweden," he notes tersely. A neutral country. Hardly properly serviceable to the Third Reich. "I do not blame you. France is a soft nation. Difficult for a military man to bear. But, we all must make sacrifices. You don't fear the Germans, do you?" He gives Henrik a long look. "What about the English?"

"English retreat with much practice. Great precision," Henrik returns dryly. His own habitually narrow blue eyes do not shrink or look aside from the stare of the nazi before him.

Sweden. They have … stuff. Right? Right. Sofia steps off the porch at last, her foot only making a soft noise as she finally moves. She says nothing yet though, seeing if she's been spotted warily. She us watching, like a gargoyle perched on a roof, but less gothic.

"They are a weak enemy, yes. But they cannot seem to stop making trouble nonetheless," Kraller says. "Surely you have heard of the two soldiers killed by the English pilot. You do not fear murderers, Herr Svensson?" He breaks his gaze only to glance at Sofia, offering her a nod. As if his presence shall protect her from knife-wielding Limeys.

"Heard rumors," Henrik answers Kraller. "Didn't put much worth in the words. So its true that two soldiers were killed?" he asks, brown brows slightly arching at the news. As Kraller nods aside to Sofia, Henrik's regard shifts to the other as well. A wordless, "Hrm," is grunted as his typical frown hardens anew.

It's … almost kind of endearing. Maybe Sofia's amused by Kraller or touched somehow. Or it could be the crushing loneliness and boredom? Either or. The woman simply offers a quick smile to the man. Right. No need to worry about knife wielding Limeys indeed. She stops smiling fast once Henrik spots her. One can almost hear the Good, the Bad and the Ugly music going in the background. There needs to be a tumbleweed or something. She stares. Evenly.

Kraller nods, conceding the truth of those rumors. He seems to see little reason to deny it. On the contrary. One tool of fear is as good as another. "True enough. A despicable act, but desperate men are prone to such things. He will be found soon enough, and dealt with." He tugs on his black gloves, as if eager to do the dealing. And to look more official for Sofia's benefit. He returns her smile. No fear, the SS is here.

Henrik slowly turns his eye from Sofia to fix once again upon Kraller. "He will be found and dealt with," the big swede echoes. "I would only have reason for fear if that were not true. So again: not worried to walk at this hour. Streets are full of soldiers with guns and dogs. What could a man do against all that?" A snort and unworried shrug.

Lilith was always far more interesting than Eve. Really. Sofia's apparently not above this at all. Maybe she really is a bit lonely. Whatever it is, she goes along with it. Oh so strong, surely she's safe? Right. Smile. Of course, he's quite professional and all. Mmhm. Sofia just watches between the two, stealing glances.

"What, indeed," Kraller repeats. But he seems to have grown weary of staring at Henrik. So he concludes, "Your documents seem in order, Herr Svensson. You work on the docks, you say? We believe this Englishman may try to escape by the river. I do not suppose you have noticed any suspicious activity? We believe the man may have help in town. Traitors, I am sure you know, must be dealt with…swiftly."

Henrik rumbles in return, "Not much shipping on river since occupied. Not much activity at all. Fascists bring supply by trucks and planes, not boats." As to the latter, he mutters, "Hrm. Swiftly. Right. If you're done now, I'll swiftly get out of the street, before getting swiftly locked up for slowly breaking curfew."

Sofia's just there still. She watches, hands folded, leaning on her right foot more than her left. She cautiously steps forward juuuuuuuust a bit. Nosy git.

"You can go now," Kraller replies archly to Henrik. Did he detect sarcasm? The SS doesn't like that sort of thing. "But keep an eye on the river. And keep a log of all the traffic you see passing along it. Major Vogel, I think, would be greatly interested in it. And what interests Major Vogel interests us all, if we know what is good for us."

Henrik nods curtly once, muttering a wordless aknowledgment as he turns away and starts across the Arras street. Sun is going down, and night approaches. After all: the streets are full of dangerous people.

Now she's REALLY interested looking. Sofia is sneeeeeeeaking nearby. Ayup, she's just a silly Frauline. But she can't hide the intelligence in her eyes, she's obviously *thinking* a good deal. Silly woman. At the mention of a Major, her eyebrows lift.

Kraller watches Henrik go, eyeing him studiously. Hmm. Surly one, that. But he turns his attention to Sofia soon enough. "Ah, Frauline," he says, doing his best to appear officer-like. "Do you require an escort back to your home? These French streets are deplorably badly designed. Easy to get lost in."

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